A Moon Called Sun
Chapter Eight — Catawampus

Hialeah searched her devastated village for any signs of life. But she would never find any...no matter how many times the scenario replayed itself. It was always the same result-every chickee reduced to ash, and no one left alive. No one at all...Brave Bear, Micco Opa...all of them wiped away. Her legs covered in soot and her hands blackened from digging through cinders, she was the sole survivor of her village. And the only thing she could ever dig up among the devastation was a charred string of white beads. It was the same thing she had found a hundred times before always the same thing...burnt and bloody beads. Hialeah was left alone to suffocate in the memories of her murdered tribe. I will suffer this no longer! She forced herself awake.

Hialeah's perception was no longer grounded in reality and had not been for some time. She was living in the self-contained world of her own feral imagination. Her fevered mind had been meandering the delusional landscape of dreams and nightmares. But the strength of her spirit snapped her out of the dream and forced her to open her eyes on the truth. It was a reality more extraordinary than anything her subconscious could conceive. She was bleary eyed but did not feel injured. Her eyesight was off...strange and out of focus. It was blurry, as if she were looking through water. There was some light shimmering around her, but not a natural, earthly light. This light had a darkness of spirit. It was full of purples and reds. Furthermore, this strange light did not impart the warmth of the Breathmaker but imbued her with an unknown coldness-a coldness that cut deep into her bone. She became conscious that she was floating, cocooned inside a big bubble of glass. Looking straight down, she could see a bit more clearly, although her depth perception was skewed. Gazing through this odd prism of water created the illusion of her legs looking remarkably long. They stretched way, way down and appeared much too thin, resembling two bronzed stalks of corn. At the far ends of her legs, she could just make out her feet as they dangled high above an unfamiliar landscape. And she was sure she spotted someone...or maybe something...darting about the surface far below her. To Hialeah, the movement appeared as a tiny red dot that ran between the crumbling ruins far beneath her feet. Twisting clumps of her own black hair snaked in front of her face. The hair blocked her hazy view of a giant purple moon with a thick band of blood-red pearls around its middle as it floated among the stars. She wanted to brush the hair from her face, but there was strong resistance to her movement. It took longer for her hand to reach her face than it should have. And when she was finally able to brush the clump of hair away, it just drifted in front of her eyes again, frustrating her. Outside her bubble of glass, something flew by at incredible speed. Because of the watery distortion, she could not make out what it was but could see a shape as it passed by. The object reminded Hialeah of the smiling whales that swam offshore, blowing puffs of air from their rounded heads. Whatever it was that flew by vibrated the contents of her bubble as it passed. She felt the tremors reverberating around her.

This convinced her she had to be in water. Although, how could she breathe? And how could she be in water, but also be suspended high above the surface of a strange barren land, staring at all those celestial stars?

The answer came on the heels of her questions: the City in the Sky! That had to be it. She was on her way to paradise, encased in this perfect bubble of water and nourished by the Great Spirit's divine breath.

Her ascension slowed to a crawl, then stopped. She hung in place, trapped inside this glass egg. Perhaps the Breathmaker had not yet decided what to do with her. She wondered whether she had yet to do something to merit her ascension into the Great Spirit's warm embrace. Or-and she shuddered when she contemplated this—perhaps she had done something that warranted her being shunned.

Was this because of her liaison with Coo-wah-chobee? Perhaps Trace really wasn't Coo-wah-chobee after all, but just a man who dropped into her world and created life within her belly.

Andrew Trace Jackson? From the tribe of General Sharp Knife? She refused to believe it an accident...any of it. The Breathmaker was testing her, challenging her to redeem herself. All she had to do was answer the challenge to secure her place within the City in the Sky. She tried to think hard about pleasing her maker to attain redemption, but the more she dwelled on it, the more her thoughts traveled home to Trace. Where was he?

She needed him—not for her tribe, but for herself and their unborn child. Nothing mattered anymore but their love. That had to be the answer to the Great Spirit's riddle. She had been foolish to let him slip away, and all because of his name. She would not make that mistake again. In her spirit, she vowed to look for Trace once more. And if she found him...this time she would not let him leave.

***

Snow White's Signing Bonus.

Withdrawing his hands from the flight pockets, Snow White slowed the clusterial spacecraft as it penetrated the thin atmosphere of the moon called Sun. He loved flying these magnificent ships. They were marvels of extraterrestrial technology. The cruisers were beautifully simplistic, very responsive, and an overall joy to pilot. His success in the Malsumian conflict had granted him certain perks in the Suntholian Guard, such as piloting his very own ship. He'd earned their trust and was the only non-Suntholian permitted to do so. Not even Josette, Sansala's pet, was given such privilege. No longer was he dependent on the Suntholo for transportation to and from the battlefield. He loved the freedom this perk afforded him. Fuck the Hellcats and Devil Dogs. Snow White had conquered the galactic clusters and was now a major contributor of the Suntholian galaxy. And better yet, he was a complete male with two healthy testicles cuddled inside his taught pouch, both safe and secure. And when he returned to the Ice Mountains of Original Earth, his society will regret ever casting him off.

"They will envy the totality of my profound awareness," he said, satisfied with himself.

Snow White was squad leader of a newly formed team he dubbed the Wapigani. He named it such in honor of the valiant Dingane, who fought alongside him and fell in the line of duty. The other members of the Wapigani were resting down below in the spacecraft's main compartment. They deserved their rest, having fought bravely on Tueum at the battle of the Gorge on Rhizome Rise.

Snow White was alone in the modified cockpit. He'd personally completed all the modifications, and so the spacecraft fit him like a glove. In fact, he was the only one who could comfortably slide in behind the compact control scheme. It was the first time since he arrived that his small stature worked in his favor. His hands were situated perfectly inside the accel/decel and pitch/roll pockets. And it was his artificial fingers that ignited her engines. Snow White had a real bond with this ship, and it was his to pilot. He christened the stout little speedship, Oviri.

As he flew the Oviri over the vast, cratered plains of Sun, he recalled the last words he'd spoken to his betrothed as she lay unconscious in his arms: "You will be a queen in my world, Josette."

Indeed, a female like Josette would be regarded as a specimen of the highest order and ordained Queen of the Supreme Council. She'd be revered in the eyes of the withering social order on Original Earth. And Snow White would be hailed as the savior of his civilization. He'd achieve the perpetually desired rank of Contributor of Universal Magnitude-Original Earth's highest commendation.

A flashing alarm on the illumined controls alerted him to something approaching his vicinity a few clicks ahead. The object was small, stationary, and organic-no real threat at all. He maintained the present course heading and pushed his hand deeper into the flight pocket to increase their forward thrust.

Soon enough, he bore down on the translucent egg-shaped orb that hovered high above the ancient Pillars of Rak. As the Oviri approached, Snow White could make out a figure suspended inside the glass egg. It was a female with long, black hair that swirled around her nude body.

"She's lovely," observed Snow White. "But who is she?"

"She's a Seminole a dang savage," Gumpaste declared in his gravelly voice. The disheveled Earthian male stood behind Snow White's pilot chair. "And how do you know this, Gumpaste, my friend?" Snow White asked.

"Cause she's the reason I be here," Gumpaste complained. "I was gonna kill her-her and that turncoat white man...and that crazy idgit dog too."

Snow White continued to circle the Oviri around the orb to further inspect the exotic dark-skinned female. "You failed; I see." He chuckled.

"Nawp, not yet. I serve under the command of General Andrew Jackson, no matta what goddamn part of the heavens I be in, and I'll see her dead, one way or thuther." Gumpaste coughed up a chunk of phlegm and spat it aside, not bothering to wipe the remnants from his whiskered chin.

"Your habit of expectorating is repulsive." Snow White never really felt at ease around this Earthian. Especially since Gumpaste was such a coarse and unhygienic individual.

"Yeh? So is a little feller that ain't got no goddamn nipples!" Gumpaste laughed loudly as he slapped Snow White on the back of his shoulder.

"So, I've been told." Snow White continued past the hovering glass orb with the naked female floating inside. As he sped off, heading to the landing overlook outside the alien lodging complex, something about her troubled him. Wasn't this woman with the male Earthian he delivered to Sansala Sui-Ki for combat training? What was his name?

Trace something or other. He shrugged. Well, Sansala must think this Trace will be a great warrior for the Suntholo, because of the special treatment he was receiving. What a lucky man...

***

Two in the Eye, One in the Oh!

"Open your eyes, Trace. Trace? Trace!" Nikki's voice was raspy as she hacked her way through the morning cough of a devoted smoker. "Trace! Goddammit!" Still coughing she shoved his naked shoulder. "Wake up!"

"Huh, what?" Already half awake, Trace was so drowsy that he'd refused to fully commit to consciousness. He'd have to face the music since Nikki coughed right into his freaking ear. He hated when she did that shit. Her morning breath was brutal, like the bottom of a birdcage. "What's going on?" He rubbed his eyes. "Nikki?"

"It's Saturday morning." Nikki reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the half empty pack of Kingstons sitting next to her alarm clock that read 6:06 a.m. "You wanted me to wake you up early so you and that damn dog could go fishing." She flipped open the pack and pulled out a coffin nail, coughing up another tablespoon of lung butter as she did so. "I don't know why you always want to go on that fuckin' boat so much." Nikki's hands were shaking as she sparked the faded pink lighter to ignite the cigarette dangling from her lips. "I fuckin' hate fish."

"Nikki?" Groggy and possibly dreaming, Trace sat up in the bed. "Nikki, is that you?"

"Well, who the fuck do you think it is?" Nikki chuckled with her usual forced smoker's wheeze. "We got pretty shit-faced last night, but I know you don't think you'd be waking up next to some other bitch."

Bewildered, Trace lifted the sheet and looked underneath to see their naked bodies snuggled inside the protection of his navy-blue bed sheets. His flaccid penis lounged across his pelvis, pointing over to Nikki's perfectly manicured mound. And while he appreciated the artistry of her landing strip of pubic hair, Trace found himself disappointed it wasn't Hialeah's more natural, uncultivated garden.

"Yeah," she said while looking under the sheet with him. "That's just how it was last night too-not much good for anything. I had to finish myself off with B.O.B."

Trace sat on the edge of the mattress and ran his fingers through his hair. The last thing he wanted to think about right now was Nikki's battery-operated boyfriend, ol' Ever Ready. His mind was racing...was it all a dream? It couldn't be a dream, because that would mean Hialeah didn't exist and she had to be real. At least, he wanted her to be real. He...

Guilt gnawed at him. In bed with his girlfriend and wishing he was with another woman? Trace looked over his shoulder at Nikki, who was begrudgingly awake but happily puffing on a Kingston. Her stringy blonde hair fell across her eyes, and she pushed it back behind her ears. Nikki was a nice-looking young woman, but years of partying and heavy smoking were taking a toll on her face, especially on her well-tanned skin. She flicked an ash off her thimble-sized nipple. For being such a petite girl, she had the biggest nipples Trace had ever seen-although, he never teased her about them, not even once.

"My God, Nikki, it is you!" Trace jumped out of bed. "This is incredible!"

"Trace, for God's sake, quit being a fucking idiot." Nikki took one last long drag before crushing out her cigarette in the already full ashtray on her nightstand.

"When did you start smoking Kingstons?" he asked her. "You smoke Marlboro Lights."

"What the hell does it matter?" she replied. "Now, if you're going to go fishing, please go, so I can go back to bed and sleep off this hangover."

"Fishing? That's right-we were going fishing." Another thought ran through his mind. "Hey, Skiff. Here Skiff!" Trace clapped his hands and whistled through his teeth.

"Oh, for Chrissake," Nikki growled, annoyed by this commotion which was obviously way too early for her liking. "It's six in the morning, you asshole!"

Trace waited, listening for the familiar sound of Skiff's paws with their untrimmed nails clattering up the wooden steps and galumphing his way into the master bedroom. Yet, he heard nothing.

"Skiff!" Trace called again as he raced to the bedroom window, pushing aside the curtains to look down their street which dead-ended at the docks. The streetlights were beginning to blink off as sunlight tiptoed across the neighborhood. There wasn't a soul to be seen anywhere outside his window. His neighborhood, full of fishermen and gardening enthusiasts, was usually active with early risers. This morning it was dead quiet and downright empty.

Wait, curtains? I don't have curtains, he thought. Nikki must have taken down the wooden blinds. Damn, I liked those blinds.

"Trace, the whole neighborhood is going to see your wang." Nikki smirked. "Not like there's much for them to see. Ha-ha."

He whistled again. Panic gripped Trace when the thought occurred to him that Skiff wasn't coming. "Where is he?"

"He's probably down at the dock." She stretched out and pulled the sheet up to her chin. "You know how he loves fucking with the gulls."

"Yeah, he does like to do that, doesn't he?" Trace felt relieved. Clean clothes lay draped across their idle treadmill. He didn't remember putting them there, but assumed he had the night before, in preparation for his morning fishing trip. Trace picked up the Florida Gators tee-shirt and threw it on his body. The fabric felt icy smooth and silky. Not what his epidermal recall expected from the worn, cotton tee-shirts he often wore when fishing, but it felt nice, nonetheless. The same could be said for the cargo shorts. Wait, cargo shorts? What happened to my OP's? Oh well.

Trace went to the master bathroom to brush his teeth and throw a little cold water on his face. Instinctively, he reached for the light switch inside the bathroom on the right side of the doorway. But after several vain swipes and finding nothing but empty wall, he realized it wasn't there.

"What the hell?" Without thinking too much more about it, Trace checked the left side of the entry and, sure enough, he found the switch. "Okay, early onset Alzheimer's, I guess." He chuckled and flipped the switch. The bathroom light flickered but didn't entirely come on. Instead, the fixture settled on a point somewhere in between shadowy dimness and what little natural light bathed the bedroom. "Great, something else to fix."

Glancing in the mirror over the bathroom sink, he found his reflection a bit off-kilter in the low light. Perhaps it was just an effect of the odd shadows, but his face didn't really look like...him. His eyes were an unusual color. They were pure black, the pupils dilated to the extreme of totally absorbing the irises. He figured it to be a trick of the weak lighting inside the bathroom, but damn strange anyway.

"Hmmm, kind of mysterious and sexy," he said with a baffled smile. He couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. "Whatev," he said, shrugging it off.

Trace brushed his teeth in a hurry and placed his toothbrush back in the ceramic holder shaped like a breaching marlin. He was disappointed his mouth didn't feel minty fresh. He loved the minty freshness from brushing, but this stuff was pretty bland.

"Micco Opa's pine tar and mint leaves tasted better than this crap." What was he saying? Wasn't the old medicine man just a crazy dream? But if Micco Opa was a dream, then how could Trace practically taste the pine tar and mint leaves the Seminole had given him? It still burned on his tongue. No dream could leave such indelible sensory recall. It wasn't possible. It was all too real. Hialeah and Brave Bear were real, weren't they? Did he not witness Andrew Jackson riding his big spotted stallion to rally his troops?

Trace stared into his dark, forbidding reflection in the bathroom mirror once again. Of all things for him to hallucinate, that would be the last thing he'd envision. Jenna Jamison in some hot girl-on-girl episode, maybe, but Ol' Hickory? He chuckled. Then the memories flooded his mind in flashes. The Coast Guard guy...Hialeah's delicious rabbit stew...that night with Hialeah. She was too real to be a dream... He knew he'd seen it, seen it all. Hell, he'd lived it. He felt it still, in his heart.

It hit him. Hialeah wasn't just a figment at all. Everything that happened wasn't a dream. It was real. But whatever this was here, in this dim little bathroom...wasn't.

"This isn't real!" he exclaimed aloud.

"Oh, it is real, Talio-Sui," said Nikki from the bathroom's threshold. Trace jerked around and found her standing there with a face stained dark purple and eyes of pure quicksilver. "It is all real, but not in the way you are prepared for..." Her eyes were dual mirrors that revealed the horror on his face as they glared at him. He could see his own mouth agape, and his cheeks drained of blood.

"It is not over yet, my love," she growled. "You have a long way to go inside these trials."

With a vile hiss, Nikki opened her mouth to display row upon row of rotting teeth. It seemed as if those godawful teeth went all the way back into her head, and her mouth worked on a hinge. Trace could smell the stench of death coming from deep inside her gut.

"I must eat you now, sweetheart."

Trace couldn't move. Nikki bit down on him and tore a healthy chunk from his left pectoral. Blood ran from her lips as she chewed and swallowed the warm meat ripped from his chest. Trace felt the searing pain all the way to the bone. The horrible realization that he was being eaten by his girlfriend that was the real bitch. Don't you usually wake up when something like this happens in a dream?

"Mmmm," moaned Nikki, allowing the flesh to slide down her greasy gullet. "You are so fucking delicious-I'll eat your heart first and save your big juicy balls for dessert." She came in for a second helping. However, he wasn't about to let Nikki enjoy another serving of USDA-approved Jackson meat. Not this time. Trace stepped to one side and let Nikki's momentum carry her on past him. With a single, swift movement, he grabbed the back of her head and smashed her face into the bathroom mirror over the sink. The impact of Nikki's face exploded the mirror, and millions of broken shards rained down on them like a sun shower. The girl stumbled backward with her bloodied, mangled mouth coughing up spurts of a black, viscous fluid. Silver ooze seeped from her eviscerated eye sockets as she fell to the floor.

"Oh, shit, Nikki! I'm sorry." Trace regretted hitting her, abhorring violence, especially against women. Yeah, he loved to screw 'em, but never hurt 'em. "This is wrong...so wrong.'

99

Nikki's body twitched with spasms as she rolled around on the bathroom floor. Trace wanted to help her now that she'd been subdued. He still had a place in his heart for Nikki, and it distressed him to see her in such agony. As he bent down to see if there was anything he could do, he stopped-noticing a trend in her violent spasms. The girl's seizures were not only increasing in intensity, but in velocity as well, and could be dangerous.

Within seconds her body was convulsing around the bathroom, viciously bouncing off the walls and slamming into fixtures. She kicked the toilet so hard that she demolished the porcelain bowl, breaking it into several large, jagged pieces. Jets of water shot into the air from the broken pipes, dousing them both in the process. Nikki jerked ferociously and Trace was sure that her body was about to blow up if not stopped. He snatched up a large chunk of fractured porcelain with a roughly pointed end and plunged it deep into the poor girl's heart. Nikki let loose a terrifying wail that it knocked him back into the bathtub. Falling ass-first into the tub, he put his hands over his ears to protect them from her excruciating howls of anguish.

Nikki's body exploded in a fiery ball. The bright burst of orange sent a strong gale of hot air that sent blistering flames coursing across the bathroom floor, pasting the walls with black ash. The blaze spread rapidly through the master bedroom and out into the second-floor hallway. The fire was single-minded in purpose and determined to make its way downstairs. Using the wooden steps as kindling, it succeeded. Before Trace could even pull himself out of the tub, his Key West style beach house was engulfed in flames. Trace thought it ironic to burn to death only a few blocks from the Atlantic Ocean. All that water and not a fucking drop to drink!

With no other choice, he leapt from the tub and hurled himself through the jalousie window directly over the tub. Luckily, the glass of the window shattered easily, more like stale peanut brittle than actual glass. As he tumbled through the air, all he could see was an enormous purple planet hovering in a murky, blood-red sky, and a million stars spinning in the heavens. He could also hear what sounded like...yodeling?

Though his house was several blocks from the water, Trace inexplicably cannonballed into the sea. The ocean was ice cold, and the harsh brine burned the back of his throat. Salty...very salty, he thought while peering through thousands of bubbles under the waves.

Trace surfaced and gulped a mouthful of air. Once he'd steadied himself, he looked around for any sign of land. But all around him the ocean stretched as far out as the horizon. There was no way to tell where he was.

His stomach knotted in terror. His biggest fear, other than commitment, washed over him. It was a fear he'd had since he could captain his very own Boston Whaler at the tender age of twelve. Now it was coming true. Trace was without a boat and drifting helplessly alone in the open sea. To make matters just that much worse, he was still bleeding from the open wound on his chest.

***

"I'm telling you Sansala, I've seen him before, this Talio-Sui of yours." Even as Josette grew increasingly impatient with Sansala's dismissive attitude, she still found herself caught off-guard by the alien's pervasive loveliness. The tall female humanoid was quite radiant, and her silky blond hair looked even fuller and healthier than it did only a few moments ago. "During our raid on Tueum, inside the caves, there was a projection of some kind that came from the Halcyon. These images hung in the air, and I watched that man in those images, as did the Malsumi."

"Was it a holomorphic record, perhaps?" asked Sansala.

"Yes, Snow White called it that too. That must be it, exactly. I don't remember watching him jump from a burning house, but I know it's him." She was relieved, believing that she might be getting through to the stubborn priestess. "He must be important to them, because the Malsumi reacted strongly to his image."

"That is impossible, Josette." Again, Sansala dismissed her. "It was not him."

"What? Why?" Josette's heart pounded in her breast.

Sansala, along with her Wafi, crossed over to the opaque window of her private chamber inside the temple of Sui'Mon. "The trials are predestined by the memories of the Talio-Sui but remain in constant flux from the decisions he makes. How could a record exist of something that has not happened?" She touched the bottom of the pane, and the window turned crystal clear, permitting the Sui priestess to oversee the activity inside the immense temple. "The Halcyon does not purpose in that way."

"But I'm telling you, it does." Josette paced while working hard to temper her anger. "The Malsumi we executed in the first raid, Hector Jimenez, said the Halcyon was more than it appeared to be. He said it was...a key." "Hector Jimenez said that?" Sansala continued to look out into the temple. "A key to what, my darling?"

"How would I know?" Josette grew more anxious. "You tell me!"

"Calm your spirit, Josette, you have become quite talliwonk again."

"Look..." Josette slowed her breathing and collected herself. "This Earthian man, your Talio-Sui, was doing some amazing things in the holomorph. He was with an Earthian female with long black hair, and a dog too. A red dog, as I recall. This must mean something."

"Let us imagine a holomorphic record did exist. What you extracted from it just foreshadows the wisdom of my harvest." Sansala touched the pane once again, and the window instantly toggled back to its original opaqueness. She then turned to face Josette. The glittering, gossamer halo of light surrounding her body was transcendent now. "On all balance slips."

"What do you mean?"

"It was not by mishap I selected him to perish and you to endure." Sansala crossed over to her and placed a hand on Josette's shoulder. This time Josette did not back away. "It is a forecast of predestination. His emptiness shall be our rebirth." "But what if he manages to escape your little labyrinth of lies?"

"He will not," said Sansala, sounding amused. "He has not cracked the challenge matrix and will spill regret in righteous defeat."

"Sansala..." Josette grew curious. "What exactly will he win if he unravels this challenge matrix of yours?"

"Not mine, a matrix designed by Rasa. It is not a matter of him winning anything, my beloved. The importance of the trials is the outcome. His defeat calculates victory for the Suntholo during this solstice. On his forlorn husk, we will proceed with our current strategy to its glorious end."

"Again, what if he survives with his husk intact?" Josette said impatiently.

"Interesting concept..." Sansala thought for a moment. "If he does crack the Talio-Sui matrix, we must re-examine our collective aspirations...perhaps, even withhold the assault to reconsider our stratagem."

"And that would be a very miffled nooblie, wouldn't it?" asked Josette.

"Josette, you should not mediate his light or loss as the tightest pedal. Either outcome will guide us with the suitable course of action. That is the wisdom of our Inherited Tabula Rasa."

As she listened to Sansala's justification for the trials of Talio-Sui, Josette was aghast at what she comprehended as the bottom line. "Are you telling me this whole Talio-Sui obsession, where a life hangs in the balance, equates to nothing more than a simple flip of a coin?"

"I am not cultured in that particular Earthian sacrament." Sansala seemed baffled. "We cannot proceed with the final solution until swallowing the consequence of the Talio-Sui, if that is what you parse."

"Why the elaborate challenge then, Sansala? Be done with the silly pretense of a hungry girlfriend and a burning house! Give him a strong blade and a worthy opponent and let them fight it out. Declare the plan of attack once the dust settles."

"A naïve spirit is my cherished Josette." Sansala lifted Josette's chin up to her. The Suntholian priestess then brushed back a small wisp of Josette's auburn hair that had fallen loose from her tight bun. "Our ceremonials are too profound for a mere Earthian to light. There is a bottomless sacrament in the rite of the Talio-Sui that must never be circumvented. Each epistle of our Inherited Tabula Rasa we obey in faith and fashion." Sansala lightly flicked her double tongues against Josette's cheek. "It will all be explained to you when suitable, but do you not feel this approach so much more molly," she whispered in Josette's ear, "and pleasurable?"

"Pleasurable?" Josette wasn't sure if she heard the word correctly.

"Yes, and arousing." Sansala backed away a few steps. "Josette, that reality that I spared you the fate of the Talio-Sui was personal for me. Even as Plurimi Sui-Za had forbidden it, I wanted you...by my side."

Sansala's eyes were a kaleidoscope of colors, not settling on any single hue, but constantly changing and turning like a toy in the hands of a child. And stranger still, Sansala's Wafi had disappeared. "What are you telling me?" asked Josette.

"What you have longed to hear," Sansala hissed.

"Where are your Wafi?"

"There are certain delicate occasions when our Wafi withdraw from sight." Sansala's entire form was cast in a gauzy aura, and her translucent skin shimmered with celestial perfection. The glittering plasma beneath the skin flowed through an arterial network entwined throughout her body and more intricate than any web even the boldest spider could create. The heat of Sansala's allure was never more evident and never closer. "I believe I must unveil my most guarded secret before I can enlighten you with every pedal of truth."

"What secret, Sansala?" Much to her dismay, Josette felt herself swoon.

"The O'dei-Malsumi did not bring you here." Sansala beamed.

"Then...who did?" There was a lump in her throat.

"The Suntholo transported you to the moon called Sun." Sansala's capricious grin released a tide of horrible truths as she slithered into Josette's personal space. Once there, the alien pressed her mouth against Josette's lips in a moment of intimacy. "Further transparency, I brought you here."

"You?" Stunned by this revelation, Josette pulled away from Sansala. "You brought me?"

"Plurimi desired you for our Talio-Sui, but I desired you for my own."

"Lies," declared Josette. "The Suntholo needed me to fight their war."

"That may have been tight at the beginning," Sansala said, coming even closer, "but I realized you could be so much more than a simple blessed warrior or a forgotten Talio-Sui." The priestess nuzzled the back of Josette's neck. "I will reign mountainous over the Suntholo as the next Exalted Priestess. It is my entitlement to bring you along as my Suisong-my blessed companion." She nibbled playfully upon Josette's ear.

Josette was frozen in disbelief. "What would plurimi say about these aspirations of yours?"

"Plurimi Sui-Za's light no longer shines on this plane." The alien chuckled. "Plurimi was as barren as she was weak. And while Rasa wished her to suffer the fate Shwar'Isun, I wished her empty. My method was much more merciful. I can be a gracious master." "How do you know this, Sansala?" She continued to face away from the priestess, not wanting to fall prey to those captivating eyes.

"Precious, cherished, beautiful Josette Legard of Earth. It was I who introduced the Exalted Priestess to the divinity." Sansala twirled in glee. "I stabbed Plurimi Sui-Za in her windows with a Halcyon shard during our apex as we copulated. Blessed be to Rasa the venom from the crystal was swift, or she would have lingered in the abysmal Shwar'Isun."

"Wouldn't her Wafi have intervened?" Josette turned to Sansala. "To protect her?"

"I told you, Wafi disappear during our most delicate occasions, leaving her...bare."

"I see...like they have done now," she said with slow, deliberate understanding.

"Yes, my molly, little pedal. Do you recall our conversation on the conveyance in the valley of Sun when I attested to my cycling?"

"Yes, I remember," said Josette.

"The cycle is complete." Sansala dropped her flimsy gown to the floor and stood naked before her. "And the occasion is perfect...Earthian."

Josette's eyes traveled down the alien's tall, elegant body. Sansala had two tiny, supple, nearly amorphous breasts that were poised atop a smooth midsection with no apparent navel. The Suntholian's nude body was a blank, captivating canvas. Under her diaphanous skin, a thin sheet of elastic cartilage rhythmically expanded and contracted over an organic breastplate of solid bone. Josette assumed this cartilaginous armor protected the alien's beating heart. A small spot of pulsating light seeped out through her reinforced chest that cast a warm glow throughout the chamber.

"As we Suntholo do each astral solstice..." Sansala took another step toward her intended. Josette's eyes couldn't stop drinking in the alien's nakedness. While venturing down to those special places on Sansala's body, Josette was stunned at what she discovered at its crossroads. Between Sansala's long, slender legs, a protruding appendage which could only be an engorged male organ jutted out like an angry thorn on the stem of a beautiful rose. "...I have become your gender opposite." "Merde," mumbled Josette.

There were no testicles hanging beneath the solitary member, for it was a friendless appendage. And like the twin tongues of the Suntholo, Sansala's penis was forked-split down the middle to form a double-headed hydra. "Our physiologies are somewhat different," the priestess hissed. "So, it may impair you during the launch. The Azzomolese should have relaxed you enough to enjoy my technique."

Though Josette was initially unnerved, lucidity came crashing down over her. The momentary daze, or perhaps the extended spell of drunkenness, was finally broken. "I don't fucking think so," she declared.

"What did you express?" Sansala sounded a bit disbelieving. "I must not have parsed-"

"My dear Sansala Sui-Ki, what you bring to the table right now is the drop of water which overflows the vase, and I will do no such thing." Josette's voice was calm, but defiant.

"Oh, yes, you will, my love." Sansala came at her. "It will inflict much less damage if struggle is absent."

"You will not touch me with whatever that is between your legs." Every muscle in her body tightened as Josette's defenses switched back on. Her warrior instincts had reawakened, and she snapped into a protective stance. Josette's hands were primed for combat as she held them in front of her like unbending blades of steel-one flesh, one silver, but both deadly. "Trust me, you will regret it."

Sansala laughed. "My little warrior, you will not impair me. You do not know how. I cherish you, Josette, and that is all which is marbled. You have no choice but to accept the truth that I am your Suisong in the eyes of our Inherited Tabula Rasa

or..."

"Or what?" demanded Josette.

"Or you will perish with the rest of the galactic orphans. Never forget, those who die outside the Suntholian race are incidental. But you can be exceptional. I have chosen you to rise above the rest, subsequent to me in the windows of the sacred Suntholo!"

"But you promised to return me to my family." The words burned in her throat as she realized she'd been betrayed-her yearnings made into kindling to fuel the Suntholian ambition. "Remember the Renaissance?" asked Josette. "Were those empty promises simply to compel my obedience?"

"The Suntholo do not make promises which do not serve our principle." Sansala smirked. "You will disregard these insignificant desires, because they serve no objective." Sansala advanced on Josette with her arms opened wide. As she walked, the swollen heads of her abhorrent member bobbed up and down-both throbbing with expectation. The sight of it filled Josette with disgust. "Your fate has been decided," intoned Sansala. "Accept the awareness that once you give yourself over to me, you will be swept away into a realm of the unimaginable_"

She could bear it no more. Josette thrust her rigid fingers into Sansala's elegant throat. The sheer force of the blow knocked the priestess to the floor. Sansala wrapped her long, thin fingers around her fractured throat and gasped for life. Unable to speak, the Suntholian gurgled as clear plasma bubbled up through lips that were rapidly turning dark purple.

"You can't call your Wafi to help you, not this time. They won't hear you on this delicate occasion." Josette stood over her. "And I will not accept a fate written for me by any pen other than my own. I am no longer a puppet of the Suntholo's twisted dogma. You broke your promise to me, Sansala Sui-Ki, and now I must break you!"

Sansala grabbed the sleeve on Josette's uniform and tried to yank her down to the floor with her, but Josette simply splintered the alien's arm with sharp, opposing blows. The Sui priestess crumpled back to the floor. "N-n-n..." whimpered

Sansala.

"You have stuffed my brain, filling me with doubt and confusion, but the warrior has awakened once more!" Josette straddled Sansala's body now contorted in agony. And for the first time since she met the beguiling alien, Josette heard Sansala cry. It was more than just a cry of pain. It was a cry of anguish a cry of incredulous, desperate lamentation.

"Can...not," Sansala spewed a few garbled words as she struggled through the bubbling plasma. "Neu...neutral...ized." A terrible moan vented from her broken throat.

"I don't need my weapon of silver, you idiot." This time it was Josette with the disconcerting half-smile emblazoned upon her face. "You have given me all the answers I need," Josette whispered. "In turn, I will give you something far worse than broken promises."

Sansala's bulging eyes were no longer a kaleidoscope of color, but shocked pure white with horror. Her once beautiful sapphire windows were completely devoid of life-compassion had escaped them long ago. And the emptiness within those eyes reflected the soulless heart of the corrupted alien. The spot of light beneath Sansala's breastplate flashed in quick, irregular successions. There was no mistaking it, she was frightened.

"Not...my...beautiful win..."

Josette jammed her silver fingers into those milky eyes. Sansala's cry resonated in harmonious discord with the faint, distinct screams of her Wafi, who were now lost without Sansala. Josette knew the Wafi would never return, for such was the

fate of the Shwar'Isun.

Josette also knew she had to run. She had to find the ultimate answer before her actions ended her life.

***

Trace's Thinking Spot. Trace was treading water and watching the crimson stream coil around him. The blood leaking from his chest wound was caught in the current of his arms rising and falling as he kept himself afloat. He was in big trouble. He'd chummed the ocean when fishing, but never with his own blood. It was only a matter of time before the predators of the deep discovered him. Shark, barracuda, whatever...it was all bad news. His arms were getting tired, and all he could hear in his head was the theme music from that fucking movie, Jaws: daaaah-duh, daaaah-duh. The creepy tuba played over and over: duh da duh da duh da duh da.

The sunlight burned his face as it reflected off the surface of the sea. Yet, he was having trouble spotting the actual sun anywhere in the sky. He simply couldn't find it. The rays shining down on him were a diffuse shower of light without any

perceptible source.

Where in the hell is the sun, and how in the hell am I supposed to determine my direction without it? Things just keep getting better and better!

Trace knew not to look down. The infinite depths of the vast blueness beneath his feet would certainly drive him mad. His imagination was quick to remind him that anything could be stalking him from down there, so he focused his attention on the horizon. He saw the horizon as a tangible shred of hope and not just an endless line separating him from the infinite nothingness beyond.

He spotted something in the distance, slicing through the gleaming water. It was far away and hard to make out, but it looked vaguely triangular. Whatever it was, it was moving slowly and in no perceivable direction.

"Shit. Could be a sail or could be a fin." Trace was faced with a dilemma. Should he attempt to attract its attention or let it cruise on by? "Naw, that's a sail. Look how steady she goes." Of course, if it was a predator, then it would be picking up the scent of his blood anyhow, and most likely find its way over to enjoy a nice repast. "I'm so screwed." Trace sighed.

"You do love a good soak, don't you, Trace?" The words came from above.

Trace looked up in the direction of the familiar voice. Just above him and flying in lazy circles was his old avian friend. "Hawk!" he cheered gleefully. "Osprey, Trace. Osprey." The big bird swooped down to mere inches above the waterline, and then executed a perfect barrel roll back up into position, just to illustrate his flying prowess. "Could a trifling hawk do that?"

"No, I guess not," answered Trace. Am I back in the Atlantic, off the Flori coast? he wondered. Could that they, whoever they were, had thrown him ack like an undersized catch? "No matter...am I glad to see you!" "Well, how noble of you to say so! It tickles me to see you as well," the bird replied. "By the way, have you discovered your purpose yet?"

"Huh?" Trace continued treading water. "Oh...no, not yet."

"Ah, I see. A pity. I must admit I was curious." The osprey gave his wings a few strong flaps to fly away. "Oh well, I'm off to catch some lunch."

"Wait!" Trace shouted up to him. "Don't go!"

"What?" The bird circled back around and squawked at him. "I'm famished."

"Can't you see that I'm stuck out here in the middle of bloody nowhere," said Trace. "I need your help!"

"How can I help? You're much too heavy for me to carry. I've carried many things in my lifetime, from catfish to coconuts, but never a man-not even a small child, for that matter. Although, they do look tasty."

"There must be land nearby, or else you wouldn't be here," replied Trace. "Just tell me what direction to swim to find it."

"Well, the direction depends on where you are and where you wish to go," the osprey said cryptically. "I see no land, yet I know where to find it, because I allow my wings to take me there."

"That makes no fucking sense!"

"It would make plenty of sense if you allowed yourself to always be there, even if there isn't a place such as here."

"Very well, you annoying bird. At least tell me if that triangle over there on the horizon is a dorsal fin or a sailboat."

"Now, that I can do!" Beating his immense wings, the osprey launched himself toward the object of Trace's attention. After a while, Trace could see the stately bird, now just a dot in the distance, circling over the precise spot in the ocean. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the osprey returned to him. "It's a fin all right," he replied. "A big one too. In fact, that might be the biggest water beastie I've ever seen."

"Ah, shit." Trace's fear was confirmed. "Now what do I do?"

"Well...and this is just brainstorming, mind you," the bird hedged, continuing to circle over Trace, who floundered in the water. "But you could accept your fate."

"Why..." Trace choked on some seawater gulped into his mouth by accident, "...would I do that?"

"You know, Trace...the cycle of life and yadda, yadda, yadda. Why do humans always assume the top of the food chain is theirs alone?"

"That's bullshit! I refuse to be eaten!" Trace tried to discreetly swim in the opposite direction of the fin. He did his best not to splash, but fatigue had really taken hold of his body.

"Look at it this way, Trace," said the bird. "At least you discovered your purpose."

"And what's that?"

"Being lunch for that big beastie swimming this way, of course."

"Fuck you, hawk!"

"Well now, that's quite rude!" The osprey flapped his wings in a huff and flew off. In the distance, Trace could hear him squawk one last parting shot. "I hope you get stuck in his throat!"

"Trace," he said to himself. "Once again, you're in deep, deep doo-doo." He stopped swimming away from the fin, accepting the futility of his situation-but not because of the osprey's urging. Because his options were limited, and death was the only foreseeable outcome. And thrashing against the waves to avoid whatever beast that giant fin was attached to would only draw its attention to him.

He closed his eyes and steadied his mind, preparing himself to sink beneath the water one last time-drowning was preferable to being eaten alive. At least this way, he wouldn't have to look into the eyes of the shark as it devoured him. He hated those vacant, black eyes...anticipating the way they'd roll back into the monster's head just as it went for the first bite. "Fuck that."

The darkness behind his eyelids was a relief. He hadn't quite committed to his drowning and remained on top of the water, bobbing up and down on the waves as he listened to them break against his tired body. Yeah sure, he'd sink soon enough, but for now he was content to just bob.

"Bob." Trace chuckled as he thought back on Nikki. Not the bloodthirsty, zombified bitch that just tried to eat him in the can, but the old Nikki. Naturally, any thoughts of Nikki led to those of Hialeah. "Hialeah." Trace had been thoroughly intrigued by his future with her, having never experienced such honest, impactful emotion. Hialeah had given him a small taste of it, and now...well, now he'd sink soon enough. He regretted his life would end out here...like this. He had always loved the ocean, and now...well, now he'd sink soon enough.

He decided to give himself a few more seconds, just a few, to think about what his life could've been with Hialeah. Then he'd certainly commit to his sinking. His body would become heavy as stone, and he'd escape to that final refuge in the cold, murky depths of Davy Jones's locker. But he still needed a few more seconds, just... to think. Think, think, think, as Pooh Bear would say. Trace smiled, knowing exactly what his father would say. Shut the hell up and grow a pair, Tracie! His dad would have loved it out here on the open ocean, sun or no damn sun. Balls to the wall-that was Burt!

Beyond the darkness of his thoughts, behind all the other natural noises around him, Trace heard the faint growl of something in the distance. The jig was up. Lunch was served, and whatever it was coming to feast on him practically hummed with raw power. Sorry Pooh, no more time to think.

knew so well.

Trace exhaled his final breath to permit his body to slip under the surface and peacefully...wait a sec...growl? It couldn't be a growl. This sound was too sustained to be a growl. A natural growl would be intermittent and unpredictable, but this noise was unrelenting, never stopping to take a breath. It was steady and growing stronger, louder. Trace recognized the vigorous timbre in the growl and felt hope swell in his heart-it was the unmistakable roar of the two Yamaha 350s he Trace opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the giant dorsal fin closing the gap, only a couple hundred feet away. The osprey was right-the beastie was big, very big. But whatever big badass was under the waves, while it swam fast, it didn't swim straight. It zigzagged, trying to pinpoint the location of its prey. However, past the fin, he also spotted the small speedboat as it bounced on the chop. It was The Joey! He'd know her anywhere, and she was beautiful! The boat was miniature but growing larger by the second. And Trace could hear something else intermingling with the throaty rumble of her engines a husky voice shouting one word over and over again, "Hey! Hey! Hey!" The raspy voice

kept repeating, "Hey! Hey! Hey!"

Trace observed the little boat give the large fin a wide berth, staying clear to the port side as it passed by. While it was a wise move, it allowed the dorsal to close the gap even more. Now it had become a race to reach him first. But what the hell was that up on the bow and making such a ruckus? It looked like a...red dog.

"I know that hood ornament! Skiff!" Trace screamed at the top of his lungs, knowing full well he'd just surrendered his whereabouts to the big beastie under the waves. He didn't give a shit. It was time to go for broke. "Skiff! Come here, boy!"

he shouted again.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" Over and over the dog continued to bark the one, unmistakable word, "Hey! Hey! Hey!"

"Skiff, it's me!" Trace waved his arms in excitement. He could see his canine buddy clearly now. Skiff was unrivaled with that long flat tongue slapping against his cheek and his lustrous red fur blowing in the wind. Not to mention that big, bushy tail waving in circles like a spastic flag. Yep, he was perfectly canine, all right. "Save me, Skiff! I don't want to be lunch!"

Hmmm...déjà vu anyone? "Hey...hey?" Skiff's big brown eyes widened with alarm as he recognized the man in the water. "Trace!" he barked even louder. "Trace! Trace! Trace!" Now manic, Skiff tapped his paws on the bow of the boat. "Trace! Trace!" he barked again.

"Trace! Trace! Trace!"

Nervous as hell, Trace glanced over to the dorsal fin to check its progress. "Ah, shit." The thing had already executed a course correction. No longer was it zigzagging but heading in a godawful straight line right at him. "Come on, Skiff! Come

on!" he hollered to his companion aboard The Joey.

But who the hell is operating the boat? Who cares? "Gun it!" screamed Trace. The Joey's engines roared with bravado as the boat powered on ahead of the speeding fin. After the sudden lurch forward, Skiff fell backward, and his pointed head disappeared off the bow. It wasn't long before Skiff repositioned himself back on top and started barking once again. "Trace! Trace! Trace!" the dog barked. "Trace! Trace!"

The giant dorsal increased its speed, apparently sensing competition with the brash little speedboat. The creature must have realized they were both after the same prize, and it wasn't about to concede a meal. But what a fast beastie it was! "Good night, nurse," Trace muttered under his breath. He'd never seen anything swim so damn deliberately before. It really wanted him. However, The Joey was coming for him too. The water swelled from the monster underneath the waves, and Trace rose up from the billow of its incoming wake. "Oh, shit, I can see it!" The Joey pulled up alongside him, and two big, burly arms reached down to pluck Trace from the water. Exhausted, Trace was flung onto the deck of The Joey as her throttle was thrown forward, urging her ahead with a jolt. Even from his prone position, Trace could see the mammoth sea creature breach the surface and rise out of the water. The monster blocked out the light, bathing them in its vast, menacing shadow. The enormous fish was thick and angular like a shark and had a mouth full of long spiny teeth. Its terrible teeth extended out from a prominent jaw that stuck out like the hideous beak of a giant bird. The beast also had hundreds of horny growths that dotted its massive ebony head. And these white horns against the blackness of its slick hide resembled stars on a midnight sky ominous, yet magnificent.

Furious at having been robbed of a meal, the sea beast splashed into the ocean and rained seawater down on The Joey. The splash nearly capsized them, but she was a fighter. Even while bouncing on the heaving sea, The Joey managed to pull

away, leaving the tall dorsal fin growing smaller and smaller in her wake.

"Holy shit," Trace groaned in relief as Skiff licked his face with pure enthusiasm and joy.

Between licks, Skiff kept repeating, "Trace, Trace, Trace..."

To Trace, the sour tang of balls and ass was never sweeter. "That's a relief!" he said, falling back with a sigh.

"You got that right," replied the balding man with a horseshoe of brownish-gray hair on the back of his stout head. Maneuvering the boat with nimble agility, the big burly man turned to address Trace, who was battered, bleeding, and dog-

tired. "It's good to see you again, Tracie," the man said.

Trace's head spun. "Dad?"

***

Imp of the Perverse.

With expert stealth, Josette exited Sansala's private chamber within the temple of Sui'Mon. She could still hear the Sui priestess rolling around in torment behind her. Adding insult to injury, Sansala was stripped of her Wafi and could no longer enjoy their protection or the pleasure of their company. Josette assumed the chamber to be sound-resistant, because as soon as the wall reassembled, the alien's pitiful moans died away.

She'd bound Sansala with long pieces of her own shredded gown. No one would hear the wretched cries, and the priestess couldn't crawl for help. This gave Josette a little time to breathe...and to make her escape. She needed to get the hell

away from Sui'Mon and back to the lodging complex where she'd locate Snow White. Then the two of them could find... "What exactly?" she muttered, slinking down the long hall. "Just what am I looking for now?" Having no real plan of action sickened her, but this was where her instincts should pay off. Soon she found herself tiptoeing past the great open wall

of the S.H.I.T. And while she knew it wasn't prudent, the commotion inside was simply too tempting-she just had to take a peek... The theatre remained packed with euphoric Suntholo and their hypersensitive Wafi all yodeling and moaning in rising and falling wails. It was a chorus of over-stimulated zealots fully immersed in their perverse fanaticism. The Suntholo were guzzling shoe after shoe of effervescent Azzomolese, and more than a few stumbled over the scattered cushions in careless, drunken buffoonery. Several had snuggled up in groups of two, three or more and canoodled one another like lusty teens in the backseat of their parents' motor car. Long double tongues flicked the air and Suntholian ears were licked with abandon.

Josette spotted countless naked Suntholo with their flat, nonspecific chests glistening in the orange light, and their smooth stomachs minus belly buttons exposed for all to see. Many were joined at the pelvis, but she avoided glancing down to their private areas. She'd seen enough of those god-forsaken things to last her a lifetime. Every Suntholian body was glazed in a yellowish fluid and covered with fresh gashes from their repentant whippings and lashings. Through it all, the

Azzomolese continued to flow.

"The Second Circle of Hell..." Josette whispered. "...and Minos sits in judgment of all the damned." During the rampant debauchery and inebriation, every Suntholo remained enraptured by the wall of bubbling liquid that flickered on center stage. Their glowing eyes never deviated from the moving images as the screen of liquid continued broadcasting the trials of the unlucky Earthian selected as their sacrificial Talio-Sui. Was it all necessary to feed their ravenous appetite for sadistic amusement? "Beware of how you come in and whom you trust..." She watched the good-looking man being pulled from the ocean and thrown onto a speeding motorboat just before he was to be eaten by an enormous sea monster. The entire congregation of trembling Suntholo inside the amphitheater groaned in collective disappointment. "That man...in that little boat..." Just like she knew the young man, she also knew this boat. She'd recognized it from the Halcyonic holomorph down in the bowels of Tueum. "Hold the train...the Halcyon..." Josette had a sudden shock of recollection. "And the two shall blend as spirals of color intertwined within a faultless mineral opening the gateway to paradise," she said, repeating the cryptic turn of phrase Sansala Sui-Ki recited on the conveyance as they floated past The

Pillars of Rak. "The Pillars of Rak," she repeated aloud. "I will convey you there," someone said behind her back. Josette jerked around. It was the priestess, Squumata Sui-Bo, who had approached without making a sound. "I can fetch you to the Pillars of Rak." Squumata licked her lips as she

attempted to readjust her gown which was torn apart on one shoulder. "The Pillars are trés romantic during the nebula's equinox." "Yes...well..." stammered Josette. Squumata's Wafi stared up at her with those beady little eyes boring into her psyche. Do they know something? Perhaps they sensed the unease in her voice or detected the guilt hidden behind her forced smile? Come on Josette, she encouraged herself. You've dealt with worse than this before. Now, hold it together! "I appreciate the offer, but I should return to my quarters."

"Nubbins!" replied Squumata. "I wish to be in the good grace of my imperious light, Sansala Sui-Ki." The Suntholian priestess tapped her chin with a single finger. "She has milky thighs, and I will do anything to come first in her praise."

"Milky

thighs?" asked Josette.

"I did not say that," said Squumata.

"Never

mind,"

those damn Wafi would quit staring.

Josette was annoyed with the fallibility of the translator implanted behind her ear. "I shall take my leave on the next conveyance." Josette wanted to scoot away before the Sui priestess grew suspicious of her behavior. If only

"But you cannot, not without a Suntholian escort. The defense systems on Sun would mince and mottle you." Squumata looked around the theatre. "Where is the High Priestess now? I assumed Sansala Sui-Ki to be your escort."

"Sansala Sui-Ki had more pressing matters." Josette was forced to improvise but had always been quite adept at guile. "She's much too important to escort an outcast such as myself around the divine temple of Sui'Mon during the trials of the

Talio-Sui.

Not when the balance of this war is at stake. She instructed me to return to my lodging complex." Squumata Sui-Bo narrowed her large, lavender eyes. "Well, it is most unusual in my windows," she said after a long pause, "but Sansala Sui-Ki can be a very unpredictable pedal. For that reason, it must be marbled."

"Oh, definitely marbled," agreed Josette. "Very fucking marbled."

"Then you shall return to your lodging," Squumata nodded her head, "I shall escort you."

"No, really, that's not necessary." From the corner of her eye, Josette could see other Suntholo gliding down the hallway toward Sansala's private chamber. She knew the dying priestess would be discovered at any moment and grew edgy,

needing to be on her way. "I can elude the defenses on my own. Don't forget my abilities." "Nobs. I would be honored to escort you." Squumata took Josette by the hand. "It will shine a light onto me in the judgment of my treasured sage." Squumata Sui-Bo, with her skeptical Wafi close behind, pulled Josette into the expansive lobby of Sui'Mon. The Sui priestess practically dragged her across the elevated skyway to the next available conveyance hovering inside an excised gap on the level floor. They all stepped onboard the oval platform, and it launched itself out over the open span of the temple. The conveyance sailed across the lobby and to the opening doorway of Sui'Mon...a doorway that would take them back out to the surface of the moon called Sun.